


I Caught Fire

by Willow_bird



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (it's not SUPER explicit but it's not like... super vague either), AFTG Winter Exchange 2020, Andrew Minyard with literal heart-eyes, First Date, Flirty Neil Josten, M/M, Mafia AU, Mild Angst, Mob Boss!Andrew Minyard, Neil dragging on everyone and their mom, POV Andrew Minyard, Physical Therapist!Neil Josten, Sexual Content, Thirsty Andrew Minyard, Tons of gooey feelings, fluff!, roommates au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28118040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow_bird/pseuds/Willow_bird
Summary: Andrew Minyard; he is dangerous and vicious and the leader of his own small criminal empire, which he runs out of the private rooms of an elite night club. He is not the kind of man you would ever want to fuck with.So why the fuck are so many people getting in his way when he's got ahot fucking datetonight?
Relationships: Katelyn & Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 65
Kudos: 460
Collections: AFTG Exchange Winter 2020, ANDREIL, All for the Game Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [welcometosideb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometosideb/gifts).



> Hi!!!
> 
> This is my AFTG Winter Exchange Gift for Glenda/welcometosideb (@dearghostqueen on Twitter)! She requested a Mafia AU or a Roommates AU and so I was like heeeeeeeeeeeeeey and smooshed them together!! 
> 
> I really really hope it turned out okay and I hope you like it!!
> 
> (Also SUPER BIG THANKS to alittlelately and justadreamfox for the moral support throughout this beast, ily guys <3 )
> 
> \---
> 
> Title is from 'I Caught Fire' by The Used. Tell me that isn't a fucking Andreil song, I dare you.

It was a fine day for bloodshed, but Andrew genuinely hoped it didn’t come to that. Not because he was squeamish or thick with morality or anything -- he just had a date tonight and bloodshed had a tendency to set his schedule back. 

The absolute _imbecile_ sitting across from him in the booth was testing that reserve, though. Every single time he opened his mouth, Andrew wanted to rearrange his teeth so that most of them were either on the floor or down his throat. The only reason he hadn't sent him away already was because Jack Baker was the only son of Miriam Baker, one of Andrew's allies, and he really just did not have time for a street war right now. Maybe after the holidays.

"What I'm _saying_ ," the overgrown ass-mushroom said with way too much enthusiasm (and way too little respect for dentists, judging by the layers of plaque-streaked tartar caked around his teeth). "What I'm saying is that this is an excellent fucking opportunity for us! You and me, yeah? We go in on this one together, and not only do we have a handy little front that'll make us legitimate dime, but plenty of space for y'know, the more profitable side of business." He grinned, leaning forward across the table as he spoke. Jack was significantly less put-together than his street-queen mother. Where Miriam tended to dress in power suits coordinated down to the shade of her nail polish, Jack took his role as "son of a mob boss" to mean that he was actually an extra from some bad nineties music video featuring a low-budget Vanilla Ice. His grimy little fingertips tapped eagerly against the tabletop and Andrew idly wondered if that was dirt or old blood under his nails. Gross, either way. Hand-washing prevented disease and this fucker really needed all the help he could get. 

Andrew smoothly picked up his glass of scotch and took a swig, less because he actually wanted it and more because those unsanitary digits were getting uncomfortably close and it was an excuse to get his glass away from them. 

"I already have a place of business," he said with a bored sigh, gesturing to the club they were sitting in. At one in the afternoon, Eden's Twilight was currently quiet, but it wouldn't stay that way for much longer. They opened to members at five then to the public at seven and would remain busy until last call at three. It was plenty profitable on its own, and that had nothing to do with the back room and private spaces, within which any business conducted owed Andrew a twenty percent cut. 

"But not like this," Jack insisted. He leaned back, the oversized chains around his neck shifting against each other with a cheap, tinny sound. "Look at least say you'll think about it, yeah? But like, don't take too long, y'know? If I'm gonna get this rolling I need a partner soon and I can't guarantee the opportunity will still be there for you if you take your damn time." 

Then, as if he needed to prove he lacked all semblance of class, he moved his eyebrows up and down in an awkward dance that Andrew supposed was meant to emphasize the allure of his offer. 

"No," Andrew dismissed bluntly instead. He finished off his drink and moved to slide out of the booth. He still had shit to do and he wanted to make sure he got home before Neil so he had a chance to set out the outfit he'd chosen for the other man to wear tonight. He didn't trust Neil not to show up at the restaurant in track pants and a sweater if he didn't otherwise intervene. 

"Now hold on… Wait, Minyard! I wasn't done, I got tons of ideas!"

Andrew didn't bother to turn around to address the oversized man-child who clearly watched too much MTV. He began to signal for Katelyn to come lead the irritant away when an unwelcome hand clenched around his arm and he stiffened. Rage and disgust tangled in his chest, stinging like acid in the back of his throat. There was a knife in his hand before he even finished the sharp pivot that brought him neatly within striking distance. He slammed the heel of his hand hard against Jack's sternum, making him gasp and stumble back, then followed the momentum by wrenching his arm free and using that hand to grab his shirt collar and propel the little work backwards until he hit the post between the booth they'd been sitting in and the one beyond it. The tip of his knife pressed into the hollow if his throat deep enough to draw blood but not enough to sever anything important. Yet.

"Do not presume,” he said quietly, allowing his tone to remain steady - empty - and the threat to be conveyed with the press of the knife, “to think you can lay a hand on me." He pressed the blade a little deeper, until he heard a satisfying whimper, then stepped back. He wiped the blood on Jack’s shirt and turned away, only to find a perplexed-looking Katelyn standing nearby. 

Katelyn was his head of security. Originally, Andrew had intended for the position to pertain strictly to the club and its operations, but somehow she’d bullied her way into being in charge of his personal security as well. It was annoying, but she’d saved his life enough times that he’d stopped trying to demote her on principle. Currently, she was standing with her phone in hand, looking at it with a peculiar mix of amusement and befuddlement he hadn’t ever seen on her before. 

“There a problem?” he asked with a sigh as he inspected his blade to make sure it was clean before slipping it back into one of the sheaths concealed in the armbands beneath his shirtsleeves. 

“Well,” she said slowly, studying her phone for another long moment before tucking it into the back pocket of her smart black slacks. “There’s a man here looking for you.” The amusement was beginning to outweigh the confusion, and something annoyingly like _delight_ was lilting in her tone. 

Andrew narrowed his eyes at her and reached for his knives again -- not to threaten _her_ with, but just to be prepared to take care of whatever nuisance thought they could bother him without a fucking appointment. Maybe that was why she was so fucking delighted. Katelyn always had a weird sort of bloodthirstiness. He usually appreciated it, when she wasn’t getting her fix from his own misfortune.

Seeing the knives, Katelyn smirked and gave a small shrug. “He said that you’d forgotten his lunch and he got… creatively combative when he was told in no uncertain terms to fuck off.”

Andrew blinked. He looked up from where he had a knife half-unsheathed and read the initial look of bewilderment on Katelyn’s face in a new light. Now that he knew what he was looking at, he very clearly recognized the face of a person who had just gotten in the way of Neil Josten and had no idea how to handle him. Then he remembered the neatly-packed paper bag filled with last night’s leftovers, a can of coke, and a carefully wrapped homemade cupcake, that had been sitting on the counter before he left this morning. He must have forgotten it in the heated exchange caused by Neil daring to walk into the kitchen wearing absolutely nothing but one of Andrew’s shirts and those ridiculously tiny running shorts he insisted on wearing even in winter. 

But how in the fuck did he get _here?_ Not that Neil didn’t know where the club was, but it was on the opposite side of town from where their apartment was and Neil’s current POS was in the shop for the second time this month. Andrew was in the process of getting Neil to warm up to the idea of letting Andrew help him find a new car. 

(And by _find_ , Andrew did mean _purchase_. He more than had the means and physical therapists only made so much.)

Turning his attention to the situation at hand, Andrew resheathed his knife and refrained from pinching at the bridge of his nose with exasperation. “Tell me no one stabbed him.” He really would prefer not to have to dismember his own staff; it looked bad. 

“Not so far that I’m aware,” Katelyn said with an unbothered shrug. “He at least sounded in fine health as he was tearing into me over the phone.” At Andrew’s irritated gesture, she continued with, “Carter is at the door. He called to inform me of a disturbance, and said _disturbance_ apparently took the phone out of his hand to demand entry. Well, in-between some colorful and very pointed descriptors. He hung up on me before I could get his name.” Oh no. No, the bitch sounded too fucking _smug_.

Andrew rolled his eyes and started moving toward the doors. He would have to deal with Katelyn later. “Let’s go rescue Carter, then,” he said instead. Because like every feline Andrew had ever come into contact with, Neil Josten did not take well to being told he could not do something or go somewhere he felt he had every right to be. “And for future reference, if this particular disturbance shows up again it’s best to just let him in. Give me a heads up, but let him in. He’s my headache to handle.”

“Of course, sir.” Katelyn only called Andrew _sir_ in two distinct circumstances -- when she was backing him up and when she was teasing him. This clearly was not an instance of the former. 

With Katelyn trailing a bit too cheerfully after him, Andrew led them out the employee entrance. Facing off against Carter was a small man, only a few scant inches taller than Andrew’s own five-foot-even. His dark reddish-brown hair was pulled back from his face by a garishly orange bandana that clashed painfully with the red and green plaid-patterned earmuffs he was also wearing. He held the paper bag close to his chest, partially shielded by mittens that matched the earmuffs. His face was flushed from the cold and perhaps the heat of whatever scathing tongue-lashing he’d just delivered, but the expression melted from annoyance to something much, much softer the moment he saw Andrew.

Even with the absurdity of the situation, Andrew couldn’t help but feel a bubble of warmth rise in his chest at the look on his idiot’s face. 

Annoyed, Andrew narrowed his eyes. “How the hell did you get here?” he asked without preamble or greeting. 

Neil snorted and patted the paper sack he carried. “You forgot your lunch.”

“You forgot to answer the question,” Andrew countered.

Neil shrugged. “I was going to go out for a jog anyway.”

Andrew was about to comment that that still didn’t answer his question, when he realized that it _did_. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. When he opened them again Neil was holding out the bag, wearing a cheeky smirk that made Andrew both want to kiss and throttle him at the same time. It was such a familiar sensation inspired by being around Neil that Andrew was beginning to wonder if he had a kink. 

He was about to snatch the bag out of his hands and insist on driving the silly idiot home when a voice from behind him cut him off. 

“Aw Minyard did your mommy bring you your lunch? Ha! Wait until the guys get a load of this!” 

When Andrew turned around it was to see Jack with his phone out, snapping a picture of a vaguely amused Neil still holding the paper bag out to Andrew. Without looking away from Jack, Andrew reached out and took the bag. He didn’t bother being subtle in the way he shifted his body as he turned back around so that he was putting himself as a shield between the pustule and his Neil. 

“That’s kind of funny,” Neil said from behind him before Andrew could shoo Jack on his way or get Katelyn to do it for him. “The whole, you bringing up mommies thing -- especially considering you’ve clearly been lacking motherly love your entire life. Is that why you’re wearing the costume jewelry?” He couldn’t see it, but Andrew could very clearly imagine the way Neil would be dragging his gaze pointedly to each gaudy chain and ring. He was _sure_ it lingered on the one dangly earring in Jack’s right lobe. “Is the whole dress-up thing a cry for attention? You wanting some maternal figure to come play with you? Kinda sick and a little weird, but you do you I guess. Just don’t drag the rest of us into it, okay?”

Jack’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open in astonishment, clearly not used to being talked to like that. Then again, few people were _used_ to the way Neil Josten could dress you down and back up again to look like the clown you were. By the time the shock started to melt away into anger, Neil had already moved on.

“Anyway, I’m going to head back. The reservation is at six tonight, right?”

Andrew sighed and gave Neil an unimpressed look, even if - maybe - he was the _tiniest_ bit impressed. “Yes. But we should leave by five-thirty in case we hit traffic.” Neil was nodding, but not like he was actually absorbing the implied time-table so Andrew reached out and snagged his coat sleeve with his free hand, tugging to get his attention. “If you are going to go do that sport thing with Kevin, you’ll want to leave yourself enough time to get home and shower _before_ we have to leave.”

Neil tilted his head and flashed him a little smile that feigned innocence and wasn’t _at all_ cute. “You mean racquetball?”

“I mean whatever stupid thing you guys do that leave mango-sized bruises on your thighs because for some reason neither of you wear any kind of armor in a tiny room with a rapidly-moving projectile,” Andrew corrected dryly.

“Have you been checking out my thighs?” Neil’s cheek was ridiculous and so utterly out of place in the context of his workday that Andrew almost forgot himself. He caught the smile that threatened to rise at the very last second though, biting down on the inside of his cheek before giving Neil a small shove toward where his car was parked. 

“Come on, you idiot. I will drive you home. With your luck you’ll get run over by a car on the way back and then we’ll end up being late for dinner.”

Neil snickered but didn’t resist. “Can’t have that.”

“No we cannot.”

Behind him came alarmed spluttering as Jack attempted to push himself back into focus, but Andrew didn’t pay him any mind. Instead, he left the uncouth little prick to Katelyn and Carter. Perhaps his people weren’t up to the task of handling one Neil Josten, but they could more than take care of a self-entitled bastard like Jack Baker.

::__::__::__::__::

Katelyn was waiting for him when Andrew returned to the club a short time later, sack lunch in hand. It had been tempting just to eat at home, since he was already there and _Neil_ was also there. However, Neil _was_ there and Andrew knew himself well enough to know that distraction was highly likely when he had to choose between practicality and indulging in… well, in Neil. His track record so far was pretty damning, so in an effort to keep himself on schedule today he’d opted for removing temptation. 

Well, for removing _himself_ from temptation. 

Neil had left the bathroom door cracked open when he went to take a shower, their silent code for an open invitation for the other to join them if they wanted. Andrew had heard the water start up and the shower door click, only to look up and see the sliver of light from the open door and had been halfway to kicking off his shoes before he caught himself. 

So he’d resolutely shoved his shoes all the way back on and about-faced, locking the apartment door behind him. There would be plenty of time for distractions _later_. For now, he was going to go back to work and finish up everything he had to do today so that tonight could go as planned -- _uninterrupted_. 

After all, though he and Neil had known each other for almost a year, had been living together for months, and exploring a sexual relationship for weeks now -- this was… well, it was _technically_ their first date. Neil had come to him last week, full of idiotic apologies and a promise to leave if his confession made Andrew uncomfortable, saying that whatever was between them was more than physical for him, was deeper than friendship. Instead of dismissing him -- which probably would have been the smartest thing to do, no matter what either of them _wanted_ \-- Andrew had kissed him until they were both breathless and told him to keep his schedule clear the next Saturday, because Andrew was going to take him on a fucking date. Orgasms ensued. It was a good night.

 _Today_ was that Saturday and Andrew had _plans_. Plans that he wasn’t going to let his own fucking libido ruin.

Plans he also didn’t feel like having a heart-to-heart about, either. 

Which was why he breezed right past Katelyn when he saw her waiting for him at the bar. Katelyn was a stone-cold bitch with an unfortunately gooey center and when she wasn’t making men three times her size weep she was regularly attempting to engage him with his… ugh… _feelings_. Maybe if he moved with purpose she would get the hint and just let it be. After all, he wasn’t the only one who had shit to do. Katelyn’s job involved more than just lurking and the occasional beat down. She was head of security, not a fucking bodyguard.

Unfortunately, the snap of her sensible flats trailing after him told him he wasn’t going to be so lucky. He even tried to slip into his office and shut the door before she caught up to him, but her hand caught the door before he’d managed to even get it halfway closed. 

“Andrew,” she said, her tone deceptively casual.

Andrew fixed her with a blank look. “Do you have anything more useful to offer? Or did you just feel like saying my name?”

“Are you experimenting with a lunch delivery service where the delivery boy is a part of the meal? Or did you forget to tell me, your head of security and close confidante, that you’ve acquired a boyfriend?” The dryness of her delivery was on point, he had to give her credit for that much. 

With a roll of his eyes, Andrew stepped back to let her into the office before shutting the door and moving to his desk. They could have this chat while he ate, at least. 

Katelyn was apparently only patient enough to allow him to get his lunch unpacked. He barely had the container with his leftover stir-fry in the microwave before she was clearing her throat _oh so delicately_. She may as well have said ‘ _ahem_ ’. Bitch.

“So about your boyfriend.”

“He is not my boyfriend.” Andrew didn’t bother turning around from where he stood at the microwave, watching the timer tick down one fluorescent red numeral at a time. 

“Excuse me, my mistake. Tell me about your apparently live-in delivery boy.” He could practically _hear_ her eyes roll. There was a pause, then, where the only sound in the room was the hum of the microwave and the creaking of rotating plate inside it as it slowly spun his food for maximum radiation distribution. Andrew felt no need to fill the relative silence. If Katelyn wanted her answers so badly, she could very well just sit and wait for them. 

Besides, he wasn’t exactly sure how to describe his relationship with Neil. They were roommates. They were friends. They were… more than that. They hadn’t discussed a formal label even if they had decided to attempt a more formal relationship. 

The microwave badgered him to collect his food and Katelyn gave a gusty sigh behind him as he snapped the door shut after retrieving it. 

“Look,” she said as he turned to take a seat at his desk. “You’re a private person and I get that. I respect it, Andrew, I do. Am I a little hurt that you didn’t come gushing to me about your love life? _Of course._ But I’m able to forgive that. I knew you were an emotionally repressed asshole when I took the job.” She fixed him with a look. “To be clear, the job I’m talking about is ‘friend and soon-to-be sister-in-law’. As your head of security I really couldn’t give two shits about your emotional constipation. As your head of security, I _am_ pissed that you didn’t tell me there was an entire _person_ I didn’t know about that had direct access to you at all times.”

Andrew fixed her with an amused look as he snapped open his can of soda. “Neil is not a security threat.” A pause as he considered that, then he added, “To me. To himself? That’s more debatable.”

The expression on Katelyn’s face was more serious than he liked it, and he _definitely_ did not approve of the way she got a soft, sympathetic look about her as she leaned forward. “Andrew. You are my friend. You’re going to be my brother soon. Then, after a very generous maternity leave that you will happily pay for, you are going to be the favorite uncle of the disgustingly adorable babies that I am going to have courtesy of all the unprotected sex I am going to be very enthusiastically having with your brother the very _second_ he becomes my husband. Honestly, the only reason I am not carrying his babies right now is because I refuse to not be able to get drunk at my own damn wedding, because Andrew -- I am going to get very, very drunk at my wedding. You will hold my hair back as I puke into the toilet and it will be a beautiful night. This, I know for certain.”

Andrew grimaced. “Is there a point to this?”

“The _point_ ,” she continued, leaning back and fixing him with an even _softer_ , downright _affectionate_ stare, “is that the second you realized who was waiting for you outside the club, all you cared about was getting to him and seeing that he was okay. You put yourself between him and Jack Baker _without hesitation_. You fussed over him. You _clearly_ adore him.”

What Katelyn did not realize was that she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. Andrew was well aware how stupidly weak he was for Neil. He just did not need anyone _else_ to know it. Including Katelyn. It was arguable to say _especially_ Katelyn -- because while Katelyn wasn’t going to try and use the information to hurt him like his enemies might, or even get annoyingly overexcited like Nicky would, Katelyn was going to _care_ and want to _talk about it_. 

“I am not interested in talking about any feelings I may or may not have when it comes to Neil,” Andrew advised as blandly as possible, using his fork to stir up his lunch. 

“Of course you aren’t.” Katelyn’s tone was exasperated but unsurprised. She sighed and then pushed herself to her feet before leveling a steely glare at him. “Because I care about you and understand that it may very well cause you to break out in hives if you _do_ talk about your feelings, I won’t push it. However, if you _ever_ hide something like this from me again I will not hesitate to rat you out to your cousin and you know that Nicky will not be as generous as I am being now.” She jabbed a finger at him in emphasis. “Your business is your business, Andrew. I get that. But you made you _my_ business when you made me your head of security. I don’t need all the details but there are some things I do need to know. The existence of a significant other is one of them.”

Andrew glared right back at her, but the noncommittal noise he made before dropping his attention back to his stir-fry must have been close enough to acquiescence for her. 

“Good,” she said with a sigh. “Now, I’ve got work to do.” She made it to the door before she paused and when Andrew looked up he saw that she was studying him over her shoulder. He was not fond of the cheeky look she shot him when she caught his eye. 

“Oh,” she said, “and I’ll make sure no one bothers you tonight. I hear you’ve got a hot date.”

“Fuck you, Katelyn.”

Her cackling was audible from the hall even after she shut the door behind her.

::__::__::__::__::

The rest of the day went by more or less as normal. Andrew finished his lunch, did some work for the legal side of the club, and had a few more meetings. The life of a mob boss really was not as gritty and glamorous as the movies made it out to be. Sure, everyone wore a lot more weapons and he definitely sentenced at least two men to their untimely deaths today by outing them as traitors to one of his allies, but other than that he really was no different than any other private business owner. 

Part of his business just _happened_ to be considered “criminal activity”. Whatever, Uncle Sam. 

His final meeting had been with Renee Walker, envoy for the new head of the Reynolds Syndicate and an old sparring partner from his collegiate days, and the first wave of members were beginning to trickle into the club just as they finished. 

Renee smiled serenely up at him as he rose from the booth, her dark eyes too calm for the violence he knew she was capable of. Many people would look at Renee Walker and see only the surface. It was a mask she wore well. Gentile smiles and grace, kindness and sweetness and an aura of welcome that could lull most people into the false sense of security that she was utterly harmless. She was a small woman, and she kept her hair in a neat chin-length bob that she regularly bleached and dyed pure white -- all except for the tips. In college she would change the color at the tips weekly with cheap, temporary dye powder. Currently she sported a pastel rainbow that looked more professionally done. 

No one looking at her would think she could down four men without breaking a sweat or hit a moving target right between the eyes with only a half-second warning. Andrew did not underestimate Renee Walker, but he did trust her not to cause unnecessary trouble in his neighborhood. 

“Going so soon?” she asked as he straightened out his jacked and checked his cuffs in preparation to slip away. “It’s been years. I thought maybe we could share a couple of drinks or get dinner.”

On another day, Andrew would honestly have probably taken her up on it, if only so he could get some more information about the young new boss of the Reynolds’ and their minions. It was a powerful family, and an old one as well. They hadn’t even so much as looked over at Andrew’s little burrow of crime to snub their noses at him since he started to spread his own influence and rise in power. Well, not until the disowned princess of their empire returned to the scene and overnight became their new crime queen. Now apparently he was on the list, at Renee’s personal recommendation -- yet another reason to linger and ‘catch up’. 

Except… 

Except it was already five after five and they had a reservation at six. _They_ \- as in he and Neil, on a date, on their _first_ date. 

“Another time,” Andrew said with a shrug. “Tomorrow, if you still plan on being in town. But I have plans tonight.”

Renee’s gaze was too knowing. The little curl of her lips was annoyingly pleased. It was irksome that she still seemed to know him so well even after so many years, but he really did not feel like getting into it. Thankfully, Renee didn’t push. She just gave him a sweet smile that was all too genuine and nodded. 

“Of course. I plan on heading out tomorrow evening, so how about lunch?”

Andrew had a feeling he was setting himself up for something, but he nodded anyway. “I will text you.”

“And I will look forward to it. Have a good night, Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t bother wishing her the same and instead offered a sharp two-fingered salute before turning on his heel to leave. It was only a short stop at his office to get his keys and then he was slipping out the back door. He _almost_ managed to avoid Katelyn on his way out, but the bitch still managed to catch his eye just as he was turning the corner to head for the access hallway that would lead him out to his car. Allowing her smirk to go unanswered just was not permissible so he showed her one dismissive finger over his shoulder instead. 

Two minutes later and he was in his car. Fifteen after that and he was neatly pulling into his reserved spot outside the expensive building he had called home for the last several years. The apartment had always been more than he needed, but Andrew had always been a man to grant himself luxury on the rare opportunities that presented themselves. The selection had worked out doubly in his favor, too -- as the location had netted him some interesting acquaintances that had ended up benefiting both sides of his business, and by getting something larger than he needed it had been a very simple thing to offer one of the spare rooms to Neil when he’d been looking for a new place several months back. 

The doorman on duty was one of the two new guys who hadn’t yet earned Andrew’s attention, so he didn’t bother with a greeting as he strode past on his way to the elevator. He had initially been intending to get home before Neil but it was late enough that now that Andrew didn’t think that was going to happen. If Neil wasn’t home yet then they were probably going to end up late for their reservation -- not a huge setback but certainly an annoying one. 

As Andrew unlocked the door to their apartment he prepared himself to streamline the both of them into getting ready and departing as quickly and efficiently as possible. No distractions, no sidetracks. He would get the bag of clothes he’d purchased for Neil from where it was sitting in his closet, shove them at the other man, then shut his door between them so they could get ready separately. He would not allow himself to be distracted by however Neil was undoubtedly going to look in the outfit he’d selected. He would keep his focus on getting them to the restaurant.

His plan was put on a pause as he stepped into the apartment and heard low casual chatter coming from the kitchen. Andrew frowned as he shut and locked the door behind him, toeing out of his shoes. It wasn’t like Neil never had people over, but it was unusual -- especially considering that they were going out tonight. If he was being honest with himself, the idea that Neil would invite someone up to the apartment right before their date made him twitch with something a little bit more grating than annoyance, but he pushed it aside as a useless sentiment. 

Then he stepped down the short hall and turned into the kitchen and saw exactly _who_ was sitting at his kitchen table. 

Neil looked over at him with a smile that normally settled around him like a warm blanket. Right now, though, it only reinforced the sharp chill of the ice that had just sliced right through his gut. Because Neil was only a couple feet away from one of the dangerous people Andrew had ever met. A ruthless and ruthlessly _efficient_ assassin utilized by every major crime family in the country. Andrew only actually knew him on sight because shortly after he’d come into power himself, someone had sent _this very man_ to kill him. Instead of doing so, though, the assassin had only shaken his hand and offered his card. 

‘ _A token of my regard, Mr. Minyard,_ ’ he’d said with a sunny smile. ‘ _Should you ever decide to utilize my services just call that number. If the target is interesting enough I will gladly offer you a discount._ ’

Then, when Andrew had asked him why he was offering a discount and a handshake instead of killing him like he’d been hired to do, the man had only shrugged with another smile that both chilled Andrew to the core and made him want to punch the hitman in his handsome, cheerful face. He had never answered the question, just let himself out of Andrew’s office at the club and vanished into the crowd like he had never been there at all. Andrew kept the card he had given him in his wallet, though hadn’t yet used it. 

“Andrew?” Neil’s voice was a steady neutral that did not match the smile he’d held only a moment ago and Andrew tore his gaze away from the assassin across the table to meet Neil’s eyes instead. The smile was gone now, and the expression that replaced it was unreadable. He must have picked up on Andrew’s tension. 

“I’m sorry, this is my fault,” said the assassin from his seat as he stood up and lifted both hands in apology. He was still smiling. “I shouldn’t have dropped by unannounced, but I was unexpectedly in town. You can’t blame me for wanting to see my cousin.”

 _Cousin?_ Andrew frowned. He only had one cousin, and that man was _not_ Nicky. What the fuck game was he playing at?

“Neil, could you give me a second with… my cousin?” Andrew said evenly without tearing his gaze away from the imposter. 

There was a thick silence for a moment, then Neil pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Sure,” he said with false carelessness. “I should start getting ready anyway.”

“Your date, of course,” Not-Nicky said with another apologetic smile. “I really didn’t mean to linger and take up all of your time. I was just hoping to see Andrew before I had to leave again.”

Andrew fought down the impulse to scowl and instead turned to look at Neil, fixing him with a hard stare. “Your clothes are in my closet, hanging in the black bag.” He had meant to get them himself, and he preferred no one be in his room without him there with them, but he was more unwilling to leave Neil alone with a fucking hitman for any longer than he apparently already fucking had. 

Neil’s eyebrows raised, his tension thawing for a moment in his amusement, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he just nodded and raised a hand to the murderer at the table. “It was nice meeting you, Nicky.”

“You too, Neil,” said the assassin, smiling at him with such genuine goodness that Andrew wanted to break things. Then Neil was vanishing down the hallway. Andrew waited until he heard Neil’s door shut and lock after retrieving his clothes from Andrew’s closet. Then and only then did he turn and level his gaze at the uninvited killer. 

“You are not Nicky.”

“No,” said Jeremy Knox, “and I _am_ sorry for the deceit -- but I did have to come up with something. I knew that Neil had never met the real Nicholas and doubted that you’d ever shown him a picture so that was my best bet. It wasn’t like I could pretend to be Aaron now, could I?” He smiled. Andrew hated it when he smiled.

“You could have just stayed the fuck away from my home.” _And from Neil_ , he didn’t say, but he knew the implication was understood.

Knox only smiled knowingly at him. “I’m not here to hurt him. Or to hurt either of you. Trust me, that is the last thing I would ever want to do.”

“Why would I trust you?” Andrew hissed back -- and though he had intended to keep himself as disconnected and passionless as possible he just could not stop the bite of anger that escaped. He itched to go for his knives, but Knox hadn’t actually threatened him yet and he didn’t want to elevate the situation, not with Neil just down the hall. 

Keen brown eyes studied him. Jeremy Knox was not an imposing figure. He was taller than either Andrew or Neil, sure, but most people were. He had warm brown skin and shameless dimples that fit perfectly at the corners of his smile, a very natural look on his cherub-round face. With the golden-brown curls he wore just at the top of head, he looked rather like a very pleased (and probably at least slightly stoned) surfer bro. But Andrew knew better than to judge a man’s danger level by his height or his smile or the number of times he _could_ have hurt you and for mysterious reasons just chose not to. 

“You really don’t remember me at all, do you?” Knox said then, though he seemed more amused than disappointed. 

“You mean from the time you showed up in my office and told me you weren’t going to kill me even though someone had offered you a lot of money to do so?” Andrew suggested dryly, more than done with this whole fucking day. “While I admit you could have made a more lasting impression by actually attempting the hit, I can confidently say I remember you well enough to wonder why the fuck you’re here, now, if you really do not plan on killing me.”

Knox chuckled and shook his head. Then he sighed and looked around the kitchen, taking it in. The invasion of the inspection made Andrew want to twitch but he kept himself still except for a reflexive clenching of his jaw that he couldn’t have suppressed if he tried. 

“No, not from then,” the overly-familiar assassin said when he finally looked back at Andrew. “I _am_ sorry for interrupting today. I just thought I would give you proper warning that a particular prodigal son has been putting out feelers all day today to see who can get more information on your very attractive and - from what I hear - very _mouthy_ roommate-slash-boyfriend.”

 _Jack._ The ballsy little fucker. 

Andrew would have to deal with him later. For the moment, though, he wanted to settle things with the more immediate threat. 

“Why give me the warning, Knox?” He kept his voice steady and flat, so much so it was barely even a question. He wasn’t buying the bullshit that the hitman meant him and Neil no harm, no matter what he said. A man who genuinely wasn’t a threat would not have pretended to be his cousin to gain access to his apartment, setting the scene to show how easy it would be to invade his home and get Neil alone like that. No, there was more going on here than a fucking _friendly warning_ or what the fuck ever Knox thought it was. 

Jeremy Knox stepped away from the table then, and perhaps if he’d moved toward the door Andrew would not have done anything except step out of his way. The assassin had stepped toward the hall, however, toward where Neil was undoubtedly finished getting dressed and was politely waiting for Andrew to sort out what he probably thought was some kind of family drama. Before Knox could finish turning his body in the direction of the bedrooms, Andrew had a knife in his hand and was neatly putting himself in his path. 

“Answer the fucking question, Knox, or we will test your legend.” It was supposedly suicide to raise a blade against Jeremy Knox. The man was deadly even without a weapon in his hand, and if the rumors were to be believed he enjoyed the challenge of killing you with your own, should you dare to try and fight back. 

But Jeremy Knox did not slaughter him where he stood. He did not show why he was, very possibly, the deadliest man in the country. He just paused in his movement, then took a polite step backwards, hands slightly raised to show that they were empty -- as if that somehow made him into something nonthreatening. Andrew did not lower his knife. In fact, when Knox smiled like he was pleased about something, Andrew raised it a little bit higher in promise and took a slow, measured step forward.

The friendly assassin took a mirroring step back. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I was just curious.”

“You still have not answered my question, and honestly at this point I do not even fucking care anymore. Show yourself out, Knox, and do not come back.”

Then, out of nowhere, Jeremy Knox said, “Daniel Moore.”

Andrew frowned. He took another step forward and opened his mouth to demand who the _fuck_ that was and why the hell he was supposed to care, when it _hit_ and he _remembered_.

Daniel. _Danny._ A scrawny kid whose darker skin couldn’t hide his bruises or the shadows under his eyes. They had been in the same foster care circuit and had been together at a number of group homes and even placed with the same foster family on two different occasions. They’d never been brothers, had never even really been friends -- but Andrew remembered Danny Moore. He remembered the boy who had always tried to keep smiling, even past the fingerprints that stained his skin with bruises in far too familiar patterns. 

Looking at Knox now, Andrew overlaid the man standing before him with the boy he used to know and wondered why he hadn’t put the pieces together sooner. The distance of twenty years did not seem like a good enough excuse to have not realized Jeremy Knox and Danny Moore were the same person -- especially given the shared trauma they had endured in the eight months they had been together at one of those foster homes. 

Still, that particular revelation did not answer his question. 

“Us both having shitty childhoods does not explain why you are here.” Andrew lifted the point of his knife and gestured toward the door with a jerk of his chin. If Knox was here to reminisce he was going to be sorely disappointed and he could get the fuck out. Now. 

Jeremy Knox did not appear offended by Andrew’s attempted dismissal. He only smiled and slowly slipped his hands into his pockets, where they stayed as he took another slow look around the apartment. He looked into the kitchen, then over toward the living room, and finally past Andrew’s shoulder down the hall that led to the bedrooms. His gaze lingered there the longest and a sharp curl of needling rage spiked dangerously in Andrew’s gut. However, before Andrew could remind Jeremy Knox that there was as much of a difference between AJ Doe and Andrew Minyard as there was between Danny Moore and Jeremy Knox, the assassin returned his gaze to Andrew. 

“Maybe not,” he finally said, affecting only a small shrug. “But on more than one occasion during that shitty childhood you put yourself between me and harm. I haven’t forgotten that.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes. “I do not need any favors, returned or otherwise.” He didn’t say that he had never granted any favors to begin with -- that the actions he’d taken as a kid to protect another hurting kid wasn’t something to be fucking _repaid_ when they still both ended up so fucked that one of them was a mob boss and the other a fucking _assassin_.

“I know you don’t,” said Jeremy with that same vaguely sad and almost hopeful smile he’d had back when he was Danny. “Again, I’m sorry about the scare. Next time I’ll wait for an invitation before I stop by for coffee.”

“There won’t be a ‘next time’,” Andrew promised, but Knox was already turning around and heading for the door. 

Andrew waited for the door to shut before he strode down the hall to flip the locks. Only then did he sheath his knife. He permitted himself one moment to breathe, one moment to let it go, then he squared his shoulders and went to Neil’s room. The door opened before he had the chance to knock more than once, which meant Neil had been waiting for him to do so. 

He had already changed into the fitted black-on-black outfit that Andrew had selected for him, the top two buttons left open to tempt Andrew with the hollow of his throat. His hair was a fucking mess, but Andrew could fix that easily enough. It was tempting to do so now, to ignore all of what happened and focus only on the man in front of him and the night ahead. 

Neil tilted his head, watching him with eyes that always saw too much of what Andrew was used to being able to hide too damn well. “Are you going to explain?” he asked, and there was not an ounce of accusation in his voice. There wasn’t a demand for answers, not even a request for them. No, Neil was only asking if Andrew intended to share at all. If this was something to put on the list of _Things Not To Talk About_ or if it was a permissible topic for Neil’s curiosity. 

“Not tonight,” Andrew said after a long moment, and Neil just nodded -- accepting it. 

Something uncomfortable and warm and _seen_ moved between his lungs, gripping onto them as it clawed its way up toward his throat. As the living mass of impulse and emotion continued to scale upwards he felt the imprint of words on the back of his tongue, a jumble of things he did wasn’t sure he was ready to say. Maybe Neil could see it on his face, maybe he knew that if he just waited a little bit longer he might get a glimpse of the raw pieces behind Andrew’s armor he usually didn’t have to even _think_ about, but always seemed to strain for exposure like nightblooms toward the full moon whenever Neil was around. 

“Hey Andrew, yes or no?” Neil asked quietly, kissing the space between them with his breath as he released the question like he’d been holding it in far longer than Andrew knew. 

Instead of answering verbally, his tongue too tempted to be trusted, Andrew hooked a hand around the back of Neil’s neck and dragged him in for a kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split it into two chapters because, at least for me, 15k is like... a lot of words to absorb all at once x.x
> 
> (I am so sorry I am drowning you with all the words I just.. I couldn't stop okay? Pls forgive me ^.^; )

They ended up being late for their reservation, which really should not have been the problem it was. 

“We had a reservation for six o’clock.” Andrew wasn’t even looking at the host as he said it, preoccupied by the snow clinging to Neil’s hair. It had started to come down in a fluffy torrent just as they got out of the car, and even with the valet service negating the need for them to walk from a parking lot to the entrance, they still ended up being assaulted by the stuff. Normally he wouldn’t care all that much about some snow, but he had spent about fifteen minutes styling his idiot’s hair and he wasn’t about to let all that hard work go to waste. 

“It is well past six… _sir._ ” The ‘sir’ was belated and stressed in that neatly condescending way older men used with people they thought were acting above their station. As Andrew was personally responsible not only for this restaurant’s _existence_ but also it’s rapid success since opening, it was _not_ a tone he was used to hearing within its walls. 

Andrew didn’t even dignify the man with a glare. He could take care of that bit of misguided insolence in a moment, after he finished carefully brushing the snow off Neil’s hair. 

“You should have worn the earmuffs,” he grumbled as he did so, noting how red the tips of Neil’s ears were. It took considerable effort not to curl his hands over them to warm them up. 

Neil just smiled at him, his eyes too soft and his lips curved in unmistakable fondness. “I wore the scarf, though,” he attempted to protest, tugging lightly on Andrew’s in emphasis. “Besides, it wasn’t even that cold and we weren’t outside for long.”

“Just because you go jogging in winter while half-naked does not mean I will allow you to ruin our date with frostbite.”

“You’re fussing.”

“I am not. I just do not want to take you to the hospital to get your ears chopped off to save the rest of your face.”

“I really don’t think that’s how frostbite works.”

Andrew snorted but, satisfied with Neil’s hair, let it go. Instead, he turned back to the incredibly self-important noob at the host’s desk . “My name--”

“I am sorry, sir,” interrupted the coiffed twat, not sounding sorry at all. “If perhaps you had called ahead to say you were late we may have been able to work something out to accommodate you. As it were, after so long it becomes unfair to the other guests to hold an empty table.” He looked down his nose at the both of them, as if being over five-nine somehow made him more of an authority on everything than they could ever dream of being. 

Andrew opened his mouth to tell the senseless ignoramus to fetch the owner or someone else with _actual_ authority so they could get this settled more quickly, but a gusty sigh from behind him had him closing his mouth and turning to look at Neil instead. 

Neil was rocking back on the heels of his brand new Louboutin oxfords, the reflective fabric on the uppers of the shoes making a sharp shine as the light struck it. He hummed and rocked forward, up onto his toes as the host also looked over (and down) at him, clicking the heels together next before landing flat in a stance you would have to be an blind _idiot_ not to recognize as combative. Sure, his shoulders were relaxed and his hands were free of weapons, but there were too many teeth in that smile for it to be anything but a threat. 

“Fascinating. Is that a part of your training process here?” he asked lightly. 

Confusion painted itself across the host’s pinched features. “Excuse me?”

“You know, I don’t think I will.” Before the rebuff could fully register in the unfortunate host’s tiny, tiny mind, Neil was already moving on. “You are awfully high and mighty for a penguin with a bad manicure.” Neil dropped a scathing glance to the man’s untamed cuticles. “Which was why I asked if that was something they taught you to be like. If it were just a matter of us being a little late to a reservation I would think that you’d have at least glanced at the computer to see if there were still any available tables. Instead you dismissed up the second Andrew said that our reservation was set for six. So that means this place actively wants you to turn away customers as some sort of fucked up display of superiority, or you’ve got a different shaped stick up your ass.”

The host gasped, affronted. “Well, I-!”

Neil didn’t let him get any further. “What is it then? We look fucking fantastic so it can’t be that you think we’re too poor to eat here.” He nodded acknowledgement to Andrew and Andrew nodded back; after all, he _had_ been the one to dress the both of them. “Are we too young? Lacking in the sophistication you’ve clearly been chasing your entire life. Hate to break it to you--” He leaned in close, making a show of squinting at the man’s name tag, then gave a low whistle and rocked back on his heels again.

“Wow. _Wigbert?_ Really? Huh. Maybe I was wrong. You are clearly living out your destiny as Chief Enforcer of Seating Arrangements. Is your estranged wife, Beatrice probably, the High Inquisitor of the Dress Code? Do you think she’d find my neckline appropriate?” Neil waved a hand in dismissal, as if the now red-faced and spluttering host might actually attempt an answer to the question. “No, no, I apologize, that was clearly out of line. If you’re estranged that probably means she eventually realized what taste was.”

Wigbert made a sound like a goose who’d accidentally swallowed half a hive’s-worth of bees, part buzzing and part honk. “Listen here, young man! I do not know who you think you are--”

Neil took a sharp step forward, crowding the stuffed peacock across the narrow desk despite being at least six inches shorter. “I am Neil Josten, and that is not a matter of _thinking_ , it is a matter of _knowing_ \-- just as I _know_ that it would be best for you to carefully remove your head from your ass before you chip a tooth.” He shot a smile that was anything but friendly and stepped back, brushing his hands mildly down the front of his jacket. “About that table?”

After opening and closing his mouth a few times in a mildly impressive impression of a largemouth bass, Chief Enforcer Wigbert _finally_ looked down at the digital screen he’s had at his fingertips the entire time. Red-faced and visibly sweating, the man’s eyes were also glossy in a way that had Andrew thinking that he looked like he was about to cry -- though it was impossible to know whether that was due to anger, humiliation, or shock. Wigbert’s face tightened, wrinkling up like a very confused raisin as he studied the screen, swiping back and forth on it several times before he frowned up at Neil again. 

“I do not have any reservation under Josten.” 

Neil rolled his eyes at the accusation in the man’s tone. “That’s probably because the reservation isn’t under _my_ name.”

“It should be under Minyard,” Andrew finally broke in to say. “Andrew Minyard.” 

Well, now it looked like Wigbert really _was_ about to cry. His eyes widened and any color remaining in his face drained so rapidly it was a wonder that he didn’t straight up faint. “M-Minyard?” he stammered, looking down at the screen again. His voice had jumped up about an octave and a half as well. Andrew saw the moment the host found the reservation because his eyes bulged slightly out of his head and he swayed slightly where he stood. 

“O-of course. Mr. Minyard. I.. I do apologize.. I didn’t mean…”

“Pretty sure you did, Wiggy,” Neil said with a sigh. “Do we get the table now?” If Wigbert had any opposition to being called _Wiggy_ , it didn’t show. He just gathered himself together as quickly as possible and grabbed two menus from the shelf under his little pedestal of pompousness. 

“Of course. Please, gentlemen, if you’ll follow me.”

Wigbert led them up to the second floor and directly to Andrew’s private table. “Let Laila know we’re here,” he said before the man could make a timely escape. “She will want to speak with me.” It was satisfying to see the man tremble, though if Andrew had the capacity for pity at this point he probably would have felt sorry for him. 

“Of course, sir.” 

Once Wigbert was gone, Andrew finally returned his attention to Neil. It took a moment for him to decipher the look on his favorite problem’s face and when he did he had to blink through a mild flash of astonishment that swiftly gave way to a bubbling amusement. “I don’t know if pouting is a good look on you, Josten.” 

(It was a great look, actually. Neil’s chin was drawn up slightly, his lips loosely pursed, brows furrowed in part-thought, part-general disapproval. There was a sulky set to his shoulders and every so often he _sighed_ in a way that was close to petulant. It was entertaining as hell.)

“I’m not pouting.”

Andrew just looked at him until Neil rolled his eyes and shrugged. 

“All you did was drop your name and he turned into a quivering squirrel--”

“Have you seen the squirrels in this city, Neil? Have more respect for their backbone.”

“Chipmunk, then,” Neil conceded before steering them back onto his point. “When he heard your name he looked like he was about to cry.”

“Neil, are you really whining because I am more scary than you to a middle-aged man named Wigbert whose greatest aspiration in life is probably to win the award for most days in the row for matching socks?”

Neil gave an indignant sniff. “ _No._ It’s the principle of the thing, Andrew. I actually put in some effort. You didn’t even _do_ anything.”

These were not the sorts of conversations that should make Andrew want to kiss a man, but, well, here they were -- and Andrew very much wanted to kiss Neil for just… being Neil. That was the thing about Neil, though, wasn’t it? In a situation where Andrew should be feeling annoyed or exasperated or maybe even angry considering how they had just been treated and how ~~nervous~~ apprehensive he’d been about this whole date to begin with, especially after the run-in with Knox… Somehow, he instead felt light. He felt amused. He felt pleased. He felt… 

Well, with Neil he felt _different._ Different in a way that wasn’t altogether unpleasant. Different in a way he would like to keep feeling. Not that he had any inclination to tell this to Neil.

“I am sure you will have the opportunity to make someone else cry, Josten,” he said instead.

“You’re making me sound like some kind of a sociopath.” Neil wrinkled his nose, but there was the hint of a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth.

The owner, Laila, came by only a few minutes later, flush with apologies. Andrew waved off her thinly veiled worried inquiries about whether he was going to make her fire the man -- who was apparently working a third job here to help supplement his income and support his family, stress blah blah, mortified and sorry blah blah blah. 

“It is your business, Laila. I won’t tell you how to handle your staff. Besides, he already had to deal with Neil. That should be considered punishment enough.”

“Hey!” The protest was indignant, but Andrew knew from the twist of Neil’s lips and the light in his eyes that the man was pleased. It was kind of fucked up that he considered it a compliment to being named as a punishment, but it was also kind of fucked up that Andrew found that cute -- so he supposed they were even there. Or at least well-matched. 

Whether it was because of Andrew’s reassurance or his flippancy, Laila finally relaxed at this. The smile on her face was suspiciously gooey as she looked between them then. “If there is anything at all I can do to make this night more special, don’t hesitate to let me know.” 

Neil, because he was a menace, perked up at this and asked, “What about candlelight?”

At this, Laila looked like someone had just handed her a basket of kittens. “Of course! I’ll have Eloise bring some by when she comes to show the wines. She’s excited you’ve come tonight, by the way,” she said, turning her attention to Andrew. “She just returned from visiting her parents in France and brought back a few bottles she thought you might like to try.”

Andrew nodded and once Laila was gone he settled a pointed look at Neil. “Candlelight,” he didn’t quite ask.

Neil shrugged, a grin tugging on his lips again. “It’s supposed to be romantic right?”

“Are you attempting to romance me, Josten?” There were some sentences Andrew genuinely never would have thought he would utter until they happened, and most of them happened because of Neil Josten. 

Neil seemed to think about this for a moment, and not in a teasing or a playful way. His brows furrowed slightly and his gaze went a bit distant as he looked thoughtfully out the window. Andrew let him think and tried not to study the planes of his face as he did so. It seemed criminal that someone existed that was allowed to be so damn fucking beautiful. After a moment, he forced himself to look away, picking up his menu to see what tonight’s specials were.

“Yes,” Neil finally said, his voice softer and unadulterated by any mockery. “I am.”

Something in Andrew’s chest flexed its wings, expanding to become almost too big for his ribs to cage in. It was difficult to breathe for a moment and Andrew had to fight for his equilibrium by taking a drink of water, using the motion to swallow down anything else that might be thinking to rise up at that little confession. 

Finally, he said, “I thought that was my job. I’m the one that asked you out.” Which was true. However--

“And I’m the one who changed things between us when I told you how I felt,” Neil said. There was a note in his voice that Andrew couldn’t identify. At least, he couldn’t place it until he finally looked over at him. The second he did, Andrew was vividly reminded of the night Neil had come to him with his apologetic confession. 

_‘It would be wrong of me not to tell you, and I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me after this. I can find a new place to live. I’ll leave you alone. I won’t ask anything of you. I--’_

_‘Spit it out, Josten.’_

_‘...Andrew this thing we’re doing… it’s becoming - and maybe it always **has** been - more than physical for me. My feelings are involved and I… I can’t shut them off. I’m so sorry…’_

There was that same honest vulnerability in Neil’s voice now. Sharp, solitary, guarded Neil -- exposing himself to Andrew so willingly. Not only just the once, either -- but over and over again. Both of them knew exactly how damaging that exposure could be and that… that was the wonder of it. Because Neil had every reason to hide how he felt. He had every reason and the _means_ to protect himself from the danger of sentiment. The very second he realized that he was - for lack of a better term - _falling_ for Andrew, he could have run or otherwise alienated himself. He was a big enough asshole to have done it. (Well, a big enough asshole to have _tried_ anyway.) Instead Neil had come to Andrew with the truth. He could have protected himself by shutting Andrew out, but instead… Instead Neil bared himself and told the _truth_ , no matter the consequences.

Andrew went to swallow down his words again but stopped himself. He realized that while his response to Neil’s confession had been telling, of a sort, he hadn’t actually confirmed anything. He’d kissed him, more or less demanded a date, then got them both off pretty fucking spectacularly and called it a night. Andrew did not usually care to waste words on things that could just as easily be dealt with with an action, but perhaps sometimes words mattered too. 

So he took a slow breath and pulled his hand away from his water glass, meeting Neil’s eyes. “You are not the only one who caught feelings, Neil,” he said steadily. “I want to be clear. I am not just humoring you for continued access to your dick.”

Neil’s eyes widened for a brief moment in what might have been surprise. Then the dawn broke in the crest of Neil’s smile. Soft and warm and filled with life-giving light. The thing about Neil’s smiles was that they did not start with his mouth. Neil’s smiles began and ended in his eyes. It was in the way the tension around his temples relaxed and his eyelashes just barely kissed his cheeks in a slow blink before softly opening. It was in the gentle sculpt of his brows as they raised and then relaxed out of their usual furrow. It was in the lift of his cheeks and the very subtle quirk of his upper lip. Only then did the expression touch the rest of his mouth. The barest pull at the corners of his mouth, only enough to draw one’s eye to the softening of his jaw and then down to the lack of tension in his neck. 

Which was probably the most amazing thing about those smiles - the ones Neil seemed to reserve for Andrew and Andrew alone. It was the only time Andrew ever saw him looking utterly and completely relaxed. Where he looked… at peace and safe and unwary. When Neil looked at Andrew like that, he looked like he would be happy to sit there forever, just _looking_ , and he was… well, he was beautiful. 

“See something interesting, Josten?” Andrew drawled as lightly as possible, but even he heard the slight roughness in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Neil said, but didn’t elaborate. A moment later he looked away, but only to trace the approach of the sommelier as she crossed the room toward them, pushing a small cart and wearing a bright little smile of her own. 

“Andrew!” Eloise greeted as she drew nearer. “It is good to see you. So good! I had hoped that you would be coming into the restaurant this week. Oh, and on a date! Perfect, perfect!” Andrew had first met Elly Chastain shortly into his undergrad. She had been studying abroad and he had been wrestling with the precarious balance of school and crime life while still attempting to get a decent amount of sleep each night to fuel both. He, Elly, and Renee had all but taken over one particular study room in the university library although none of them had any of the same courses or even fields of study. They’d all just been too stubborn to leave -- it would have been too much like surrendering and none of them were good at that. Friendship had eventually bloomed in the trenches dug by all the caffeine-enhanced bickering that ensued. 

Ah, college.

Andrew nodded over at Neil for the obligatory introductions. “Elly, this is Neil. Neil, Elly is the sommelier. We also went to college together.”

Something familiarly wicked sparked in Neil’s eyes just then and Andrew had half a second to decide whether he was going to be worried or curious before Neil turned his body more fully to face Elly and opened his mouth. What came next was a quiet flurry of what Andrew knew just enough to identify as French. It flowed far too seamlessly from Neil’s lips and the sudden pull low in his belly told Andrew he was in serious trouble. 

Elly gave a delighted laugh and responded in the same language before turning to Andrew with a bright smile. “Oh Andrew, and your beau speaks French! I like this. Perhaps he can teach you some class after all then, hm?” Though her tone was playful there was a familiar sharpness in her eyes that had Andrew deciding to end this interaction before the two thought to exchange numbers. 

“Don’t let him fool you, Elly. He also speaks German and does not know how to dress himself appropriately for the seasons,” Andrew returned as dryly as humanly possible. 

Elly made a face at the reference to German, which she (still) regularly referred to as a ‘saw-toothed hack language for unrefined piglets’ (whatever _that_ meant). “Ah. Well. No one is perfect.” Her expression softened then as she looked between them once before settling her gaze on Andrew. “It is good to see you happy, Andrew. You deserve that, and to have a wonderful, perfect date. Which is why!” She stepped back and pulled her cart closer before indicating it with a flourish of both hands. “I have brought some wines for you. Oh, and some romantic candlelight.” Here she winked over at Neil, who didn’t bother trying to hide or subdue his positively enormous grin as she then proceeded to set up a little display of candles on the table between them. Two of them were shaped like actual roses. 

“Andrew I want to meet more of your friends, this is amazing,” Neil said brightly. 

“No,” Andrew rebuked, knowing full well he’d probably give Neil just about anything he wanted.

Elly, being an actual witch, cackled. She then turned to Neil and said something in French that made him chuckle. He smiled fondly over at Andrew before looking back at Elly and responding in the same language. 

After fixing them both with a blank stare, Andrew fished his phone out of his pocket and downloaded Duolingo. This was just not going to stand.

“I apologize,” Elly said without a trace of actual apology in her voice, still smiling as she returned to English and looked over at Andrew. “I was being rude. I did not wish to actually interrupt your date. Now, shall we see the wines?”

Andrew returned his phone to his pocket and met her gaze evenly before gesturing with one hand for her to _get on with it, then._

Elly got on with it. She even (rather miraculously) managed to refrain from trying to embarrass him in the process of showcasing the wines she’d brought back with her from her recent visit to France. They ended up with something that had enough of a natural sweetness to suit Andrew’s preferences without offending Neil’s miserable pallet. It paired nicely with dinner and was light enough that they were able to work through most of the bottle between the two of them without getting drunk off their asses. 

It was odd, really, how easy it was for the stress of the day to just melt away while Andrew was talking to Neil. From having to deal with Jack Baker all the way to the unfortunate encounter with Knox in his own home… it all became distant as he and Neil traded insults and anecdotes over far too many bread rolls. They ended up only finishing half of their actual dinners, with Neil eating more off of Andrew’s plate than his own once he discovered that he liked the fish Andrew had ordered. He pilfered the potatoes entirely, claiming that the kitchen had whipped them better than the ones on his own plate. 

Dessert was a different sort of adventure, with Neil insisting he didn’t want any and Andrew putting his foot down to say that there was no such thing as a dinner out without also getting dessert. It didn’t matter if they were taking back half of their meals in to-go containers because they’d overfilled on bread before their food even arrived. Dessert was separate. It was sacred. And Andrew would not stand to see it disregarded. They finally came to a begrudging compromise wherein Andrew ordered his favorite dessert from the menu and Neil agreed to try it. 

“Just one bite,” Andrew reminded him as their server arrived with a generous slice of dark chocolate cake artfully arranged with caramel curls and an actually proportional amount of ice cream to eat with it. “If you decide that you love it and want more, you’re shit out of luck and will just have to remember for next time.” Andrew may currently be trying to figure out how to convince Neil to let him buy him a car, but fully sharing his dessert was just too much to ask. They weren’t there yet. Honestly, Andrew wasn’t sure they ever _would_ be. There were just some things a man could not share. Everyone had their limits. 

Neil rolled his eyes. “Magnanimous of you. I told you, I really don’t need any at all. I’ve never been big on sweets to begin with and I already had plenty of food.”

Andrew fixed him with a steely glare and pointedly dug his fork into the cake, getting the perfect layering of icing, cake, filling, and ice cream before holding up the fork to Neil. He didn’t bother to verbalize his order.

Of course, instead of taking the fork from him, Neil folded his arms atop the table and leaned forward, opening his mouth with a cheeky, wicked glint in his eyes that did awful, wonderful things to Andrew’s insides each and every time he saw it. As meeting that challenge was the only course at this point, Andrew delivered the offered bite right into Neil’s mouth. The whole world slowed down as Neil’s lips sealed around the bite and dragged it free of the tines, as he leaned back and his throat worked to suck down the melty ice cream even as he slowly chewed and savored the cake itself. Neil hummed low in his throat and Andrew _felt_ that sound like a stroke down his spine. 

“Not bad,” Neil finally said with a shrug once he’d finished teasing Andrew’s blood pressure by being unnecessarily erotic. 

“Not _bad?_ ” Andrew managed to scoff after digging his tongue out from halfway down his own fucking throat. “This,” he said as he took another forkful of excellence, “is perfection. It is basically an edible orgasm.”

He walked right into that one. Did it to himself. He had no ground to stand on and no right to defend himself from the smirk that unfolded on Neil’s lips in response to that poorly-considered word choice. So he did what any other reasonable man would do -- he shoved a forkful of cake into his mouth and pointedly ignored the smug little prick sitting across from him. Apparently Neil did not appreciate being ignored, though, because on Andrew’s third bite he felt the brush of something against his ankle. A glance down confirmed it to be Neil’s foot and when he looked across the table he found the other man watching him. There was mischief in those blue eyes, but also an awareness that was reflected in the way the toe of Neil’s shoe pulled away from his ankle as he waited for a rebuff or a reaction. 

When Andrew didn’t tell him to knock it off or give any other apparent sign of discomfort, Neil’s foot brushed his ankle again, tracing around it to stroke up the inside of his calf. Andrew was _sure_ , he was _certain_ , that he was keeping his expression completely blank as he took another slow, deliberate bite of his cake. There was no way that Neil could see how that small touch affected him. His breathing was militantly even, his hand steady as he casually took up another forkful of cake and ice cream. 

So how the fuck could Neil look so fucking _pleased_ with himself? It was like the little menace _knew_ that Andrew’s pulse was racing, that he could barely taste the cake because of how distracted he was by the light, teasing stroke of Neil’s foot along the inside of his calf. All Andrew could think about was removing the barriers of their clothing, now, so that he could feel skin on skin. He wanted Neil beneath him. Wanted to see those blue eyes go wide, pupils blown out with pleasure. Wanted to turn that smirk into a gasp for air that rang with Andrew’s name as he took him apart one touch, one kiss, one stroke at a time. Wanted to touch, wanted to please, wanted to taste and feel and consume him whole.

This was part of what Neil did to him. He made him _want_ in a way that was still sometimes terrifying, but Andrew had long since given up on resisting it. 

Andrew took another deliberate bite of cake as Neil’s foot slid higher, brushing his knee. It never went beyond that point, but that didn’t stop Andrew from imagining Neil’s hand there instead. He had artist hands, Neil did. Strong but elegant, with long fingers and a grip that could caress or crush depending on his whim and care for whatever he held in his grasp. Since Neil had been his physical therapist before they had become friends, and eventually more than that, Andrew had considerable experience being under those hands. He knew _exactly_ what they felt like cupping over his knees and rubbing up the insides of his thighs, and his memory was a demon more than willing to bring that sensation back to haunt him as he tried to focus on his damn cake.

A hand entered his field of vision and Andrew watched as Neil plucked the strawberry from the top of his cake slice. His fork remained forgotten halfway to his mouth, all of his attention suddenly focused intently on the way Neil brought the strawberry to his lips. The combination of the stroke of Neil’s foot up his calf to brush the side of his knee, the visual of Neil sucking the juices from the strawberry, and the pleased little hum he made as he did it was too damn fucking much. Andrew took one last bite of cake and then abandoned his fork onto the plate. 

“I hope you realize there will be consequences for this,” he advised as cooly as possible as he moved to stand, Neil’s foot falling easily away the second he started to move. 

“Hm? What do you mean?” Neil asked with the fakest bout of innocence Andrew had ever heard in his fucking life. There was no hesitation at all as Neil also stood and tugged on his jacket, even as he continued his little game of pretend ignorance. “Are we leaving? But Andrew, didn’t you want to eat your amazing dessert? I thought dinner just was not complete without dessert.”

“You are not cute,” Andrew informed him with a sharp glare as they made their way out of the restaurant. There was no need to ask for a check when he kept a tab and stopped by at least every couple of weeks to check in on the place anyway. 

“Please,” Neil rebuffed lightly, “I’m adorable.” It took more effort to hold back his smile at that than Andrew would probably ever be comfortable admitting.

::__::__::__::__::

The drive back to their apartment was far quicker than the trip to the restaurant had been, thanks to a dip in traffic and the presence of Neil’s hand _just_ above Andrew’s knee as he maneuvered the city streets. He had little inclination to actually get them killed on what were potentially icy roads, so he wasn’t reckless with his driving, but he _was_ efficient about it. Just as he was _efficient_ about getting Neil into the apartment and stripped down to nothing but a sigh.

He didn’t bother waiting to get them into his bedroom. The second the door was locked, Andrew had Neil pressed back against it and after the first rasped ‘ _yes, Andrew, yes_ ’ against his lips he began the slow unfurl of his revenge for that bout of mischief back in the restaurant. He held Neil’s wrists against the door and kissed him until they were both too hard to ignore any longer. It was too easy to kiss Neil. Too easy to touch him. Too easy to get lost in the sound of his sighs and the taste of his lips and the feel of his body against his. Neil was taller than Andrew but built more narrowly in a way that only seemed small and scrawny because he hadn’t figured out how to wear fucking clothes correctly. The second he was in something fitted to him, or (better) was naked -- the power in his build became instantly evident. 

Andrew didn’t need to _see_ Neil naked to feel the strength of him when they were pressed this close, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to. The only thing that stopped him from having Neil stripped bare before they even made it to Andrew’s bedroom was his own knowledge that Neil only felt comfortable being completely naked in the bathroom or in a bedroom. He felt too open and exposed in the rest of the apartment, even with the door shut and locked. 

It flashed through Andrew’s mind to take their time getting to the bedroom, to drag it out a bit. He’d taken Neil in his mouth against the kitchen counter before, and the couch had certainly seen its fair share of activity in the last few weeks. There were plenty of things he could do to him that didn’t require Neil getting completely naked.

But Andrew was feeling greedy. He was _hungry_. He wanted Neil naked and gasping. He wanted to be able to see the muscles of his arms bunch and the flex of his thighs. He wanted to kiss down each scar he knew was on the other man’s chest as his hands mapped his flushed and heated form. He wanted, he wanted, he _wanted_ \-- and any cause to deny himself those wants when Neil was right here, willing and just as wanting, vanished before it could sink in its doubting claws. 

They made it to the bedroom with minimal stumbling, somehow managing to maneuver the apartment while kissing, Andrew’s arms around Neil’s waist and Neil’s hands tangled in Andrew’s hair. A quick shove had Neil landing on the bed, breaking the kiss long enough for both of them to hurriedly shuffle out of their clothes. Neil got tangled in his pants so Andrew ended up helping him, putting him in prime position to turn his beautiful idiot’s breathless laughter into a breathless moan instead. 

Andrew made it a point to keep Neil as breathless as possible until they were both spent. The sound of his gasps mingling with his moans and the murmurs and sighs containing Andrew’s name were enough to do the damn same to him so it was only fair. He took him apart with his mouth until Neil’s fingers pulled at his hair and he was close to begging, then pulled away to trail kisses down his thighs instead, stranding him on a precarious edge to the sweet tune of frustrated, begrudged whimpers. Neil definitely tried to get him back for that, his voice already husky as he demanded, ‘ _let me_ ’ and guided Andrew to lean back against the headboard once he found the voice to rasp out his own ‘ _yes, fuck yes_ ’. 

Before Neil, sex had always been about a mix of control and the general satiation of a need. Neither of those things went away when Andrew was with Neil, but the act had become something… _more_. From the first time they kissed, Andrew had felt it. Every touch held more weight, every pulse of pleasure hit harder. Taking Neil apart was less about his own impulse to control another’s pleasure than it was the sudden desire to _give_ as much pleasure to this specific person as was possible. On the rare occasions that Andrew had previously allowed someone to reciprocate anything to him, it was always just about him wanting to get off.

But with Neil…

WIth Neil came this intimacy that amped everything up to one-hundred. Every touch, every sigh, every moan, every kiss. It affected every single one of his senses until Andrew felt high on all that was Neil Josten. It was a rush that flooded him, buoyed him, made him soar, and that was even _before_ he finally allowed himself to come. When he did it was with his mouth pressed to Neil’s as they brought each other over the edge, their hands moving in quick strokes as they swallowed down each other’s moans. 

It took herculean effort for Andrew to drag himself off of Neil afterward so he could stumble to the bathroom for a washcloth, but experience told him that he’d rather get the worst of the cum off of them before it started to dry. He got himself cleaned up first, then sank back down onto the bed so that he could press kisses to Neil’s jaw and down to his neck, then his shoulders as he got his stomach and hand cleaned up as well. There wasn’t enough energy left in his whole body for him to even _attempt_ tossing the washcloth toward the hamper when he was done, so he just let it drop to the floor beside the bed before collapsing more fully beside Neil with a groan. The mattress was so beautifully soft and he could already feel sleep tugging at him. 

Still catching his breath, Neil turned his head to the side to smile at him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes such a brilliant blue they captured the starlight and shone it back, even in the dimness of the room. Andrew just stared at him, too tired and wrung out to even try swallowing down all the fucking _feeling_ bubbling up inside his chest. 

His arm was almost too heavy to move, weighed down by a post-orgasm exhaustion that settled deeper into his bones than he’d ever felt it before, but he still managed to lift his hand and trace the backs of his fingers over Neil’s cheek. When Neil closed his eyes on a soft sigh and tilted his face into the touch, Andrew turned his hand and opened it to cradle his cheek. He brushed his thumb over his two favorite freckles, second star to the right and straight on until the blue-sky morning of Neil’s eyes. 

Neils lips, softer than they were weeks ago thanks to the copious amounts of chapstick he’d been applying to ward off winter dryness, pressed to the center of his palm in a soft kiss. Another followed, trailing down to the heel of his hand, then another right on the now-steadying thrum of his pulse at the top of his wrist. 

“Mm…” Neil murmured against his skin. The sound was barely more than a hum, but the vibration of it sent a thrill through Andrew’s blood all over again. Then Neil pulled back and slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position. It took Andrew a minute to figure out _why_ , and when he did something locked inside his chest. Or perhaps it was more that it _unlocked_. 

Because usually, after they’d both gotten off and caught their breath, Neil would leave. He’d go back to his own room, or off to the bathroom if they were in the living room. He’d respect Andrew’s boundaries and give him his space. There was never any tension in the departure, not for either of them. It was an arrangement that had worked very well for them up until now. 

Except… Except Andrew didn’t _want_ Neil to leave right now. He wanted to wrap around him, pull him close, and not let him go. He wanted to keep him. He wanted him to - “Stay.”

Andrew didn’t realize he had said the word out loud until Neil paused in his stretch to look over at him. Starbright blue eyes widened slightly, then softened. Neil hesitated, waiting a span of five heartbeats like he was giving Andrew ample time to take it back. Then he laid back down, turning to face him on the bed. As his head hit the pillow a shot of moonlight from the unguarded window highlighted the smile on his face and a beast inside Andrew’s chest rumbled in approval at it’s brightness. He couldn’t stop himself; as Neil settled, he had to touch it - had to lift his hand again, feeling suddenly stronger than before, and trace that smile with his fingertips. 

“You asked me to stay,” Neil said quietly into the dark room, voice so soft that Andrew almost felt it more than he heard it, humming like butterfly kisses against his fingertips. 

“I want you to,” Andrew said back, honestly, more rawly than he’d ever admitted to anything before this moment. 

“I want to, too.. I mean. I want.. This. To.. with you. To… stay.”

It wasn’t until Neil’s fingertips brushed against his lips in a mirror of his own ongoing touch, those beautiful eyes bright with something like pleasure and something like awe and something like peace, that Andrew realised he, too, was smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Working title for this fic was 'and then they were MOBMATES' ~ courtesy of alittlelately/likearecord


End file.
